


"Fuck You" and Other Obscenities

by Onyxim



Category: DCU (Animated), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: And Dick is. . .Dick, Au where men can get pregnant, Bruce is so over Clark's shit, Clark doesn't understand why Bruce is overreacting tbh, Humor, M/M, Mood Swings, Mpreg, Really sweet ending actually, Sweet Ending, prepare for cavities, romance sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyxim/pseuds/Onyxim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where mood-swings attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Fuck You" and Other Obscenities

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love me some mpreg. And mood swings.

Clark knew when he'd struck a nerve in Bruce.

It was blatantly obvious. There were signs.

For example, on a normal day, if Clark were to bring up the subject of Bruce's body, the most of a response he would ever get was an eyebrow raise and a questioning glance.

But nowadays, as in, while Bruce was seven months pregnant with their twins, if Clark even put "your" and "hips" in the same sentence, he'd get the full-on Bat-Glare.

That's right. The Bat-Glare, which he rarely ever used on him (believe it or not), especially at something so simple.

And then:

"What?"

Oh-ho, but not in regular text. It was italicized, capitalized, bolded, and said in a tone so menacing that a Batman from a parallel universe would quiver with fear. His eyes would narrow into dangerous slits and he'd forget anything he was doing at the moment and focus all of his anger at his target: Clark.

"What? What did I say?" Clark would ask every time, a continuous mistake.

Bruce would just huff and stalk from the room. Stomp, really.

And after that, there was some sort of unspoken list of rules, which consisted of:  
-No talking to each other directly.  
-No eye contact.  
-No texting.  
-Talk to each other using Dick and Jason.  
-The communication between us is only reestablished when Bruce returns by himself for makeup sex.

It never happened often enough for it to become a routine, thank goodness.

But there was one moment that'd he'd never forget. . .  
\----

"I don't have anything that fits anymore," Bruce growled angrily, tossing another one of his dress shirts behind him and into the ever-growing pile of clothes.

"I'm sure you'll find something," Clark returned hopefully, glancing up from his laptop to smile at Bruce.

Bruce, who had his back facing Clark, turned around and gave him a look that said, "Yeah, right."

Clark's smile dropped immediately when he realized how unhelpful he was being. "Right. Sorry."

Bruce just grunted and turned back to his closet. Clark watched him pluck another shirt off of a hanger and eye it carefully.

"Clark. . ."

"Hm?"

Bruce put the shirt up to himself, it was a sweater, and turned to face him once again, cocking his head to the side. "Do you think I could fit this?"

"Uh. . ."

Bruce's belly had grown quite big in the span of seven months, with him carrying twins and all. The green and white sweater that he'd never seen Bruce wear would definitely _not_ fit him.

But his husband was also dangerously moody. Every word Clark said had to be carefully picked out and recited in his head a few times before he decided it was safe enough to say. Which almost always ended up being _never._

"Clark?" Bruce frowned at him.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Think, Clark, think.

"Uh, m-maybe you should try another shirt?"

Moment of truth.

Clark watched Bruce's face change.

Stage one: Bruce was thinking about his answer, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then he scrunched up his nose a little.

Uh-oh.

Stage two: He was twisting and turning Clark's words in his head to use them against him.

Stage three: This was usually where Bruce would start frowning harder, getting red in the face and fists clenching at his sides before he started accusing Clark and threatening dire consequences. Creative places to shove Kryptonite.

But, instead, his bottom lip trembled, and his eyes glazed over.

"So, you don't think the shirt would fit me."

Fuck.

"I didn't say that--"

"It's basically what you said!" Bruce walked to the door and opened it. "Get out," he barked.

Clark sighed. "Bruce--"

"GODDAMMIT, CLARK, GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM OR I SWEAR YOU'RE ON THE COUCH FOR A YEAR."

Clark threw his hands up in defense and quickly exited. He turned just to see the door slam in his face and the small click of the lock turning. He sighed again.

Dick so happened to be walking down the hallway at that moment. The twenty-year-old winced and gave Clark a questioning look, stopping next to him. "Geez. What'd you do this time?"

"He's angry because I told him he couldn't fit a shirt," Clark answered. He knocked on the door. "Bruce. Come on. I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, you know that."

"Fuck you, asshole," snapped the voice from the other side of the door. "Go the fuck away."

"Bruce, you're overreacting."

"You called me fat! I look like a blimp!"

"I never said that, Bruce."

"Well, you meant it!"

Dick had the decency to chuckle, but quieted when Clark sent him a glare.

"Baby, please. I'm sorry. I truly am," Clark said sincerely. "Please open the door."

No response. He and Dick looked at each other in confusion.

"Bruce?" he tried again. His super hearing caught the noises of Bruce shuffling around the room, and then a _whoosh_ sound.

"What's he doing?" Dick asked.

"He opened a window. . ." Clark's eyebrows furrowed. Concern growing, he wrenched the door open and saw Bruce walking over to the open window with a pile of his shirts and pants in his arms.

"Bruce, what are you--"

He watched his husband toss the clothes out the window.

"How did I know he was going to do that?" Dick murmured behind him.

Before Bruce could return to the closet to throw out another batch of clothes, Clark rushed over and blocked his path.

"Bruce, you're overreacting," he repeated gently.

He got a seething glare and a growled "Move," in return.

Clark sighed and wrapped his arms around Bruce, as much as he could with his belly in the way. "I'm sorry," he whispered in his ear. He brushed a light kiss on his neck.

Bruce was stiff in his embrace. "I don't need those clothes anyway."

"I know. But, no matter what, you'll always be perfect to me. Especially when you're carrying our children."

He glanced over at the door and noticed that Dick had slipped back down to his room and gave a small smile.

After a few moments of silence, he felt Bruce's arms slide around his body and rest his hands on his shoulder blades. He pulled back to look at Bruce's face, his eyes were still watery and his lips were pursed in a small pout.

"You're still an asshole," Bruce mumbled, burying his head in Clark's shoulder. There was no meaning behind the words.

Clark smiled and placed another small kiss on his husband's neck. "I know."


End file.
